


Space, Time, and Beautiful Ghosts

by a_ufo_party



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Missing Scene, Pining, Time Travel, being scientifically accurate??? idk her!!!, just a sad inventor pining after a sassy ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 13:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_ufo_party/pseuds/a_ufo_party
Summary: After his sudden demise, HG Wells finds himself on a beach in 1874 with only a broken clock, lungs full of smoke, and a name which haunts his every thought: Lenore.





	Space, Time, and Beautiful Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic is my entry for Shipwrecked's Fanwork Contest! Happy fifth anniversary to some of the most talented humans out there. Hope you don’t mind me taking some major liberties with your ghost lore. Thank you for making so many awesome things that never cease to make me happy <3
> 
> Shipwrecked is currently fundraising for their holiday project. So if you love literature, comedy, and/or supporting really awesome creators, feel free to donate!
> 
> Takes place directly following HG's death...

“Lenore!” The cry tore from HG’s throat, only to be drowned out by the crashing of waves.

Suddenly breathless, the inventor doubled over, knees thudding against the cool, white sand. 

He felt as though he had been drowned in icy water, enveloped in darkness, only to be pulled into the pale sunlight once more. 

And now he was on a beach.

Why was he on a beach?

Was he...dead?

Wisps of smoke still burned in his lungs, but the walls of the attic were long gone. And this new place, this empty shore, had a sense of finality which hung thick in the air. Each brush of the wind seemed to whisper, _ the end. _

As he sat on the damp ground watching the jagged waves froth against the shoreline, the moments leading to the sudden stop began to piece themselves together. 

A kind voice calling his name.

His head resting in her lap.

Her hands stroking his hair, trying to keep him talking.

Her arms clinging to him as he finally drifted out of consciousness. 

_ Lenore. _

His chest ached the moment the name came to mind. 

A Lady Ghost, with eyes like a full moon, and soft curtains of wavy hair.

He had known her but a day, yet there was no person in whose arms he would have rather died. 

Perhaps that was pathetic, but he supposed it really didn’t matter now. There he stood, on the shore of death itself, watching the empty, grey abyss of sky and sea. If he had feelings for her, they would remain unsaid for eternity.

How long, he wondered, would it be before his soul faded away to the great beyond? Or was this all there was? Just an empty shore, leading into the bottomless dark of the ocean, never allowing him to move forward, but tempting him with the mysteries ahead.

Suddenly aware of his lack of a heartbeat, he looked down at his body and was surprised to find that it remained familiar. The clothes he had died in still dressed his frame, perhaps a little more rumpled than when he had first put them on, but otherwise unchanged. In fact, besides the lack of blood flow, he was almost entirely the same. Except…

His watch.

The lovely, reliable pocket watch he had kept in his vest for lord knows how long was crushed, glass crumbling and hands bent.

How had it broken in his breast pocket? Or was his physical form a mere illusion? His goggles remained intact around his neck. So why just the watch? It didn’t make sense.

Or maybe it did...

In a moment, his brain was whirring like an oiled machine. If he was no longer alive, then he no longer existed within space. 

And if he no longer existed within space, then perhaps...perhaps the shackles of time had ceased to hold him as well. 

Jumping to his feet, he began to spin, eyes scanning for any sign of where he might be. Due to the...unnatural way he had arrived, the inventor had simply assumed that this beach was one of those supernatural places described in religion and fantasies. But perhaps this was not so. There was a chance that, as his soul left his body, he had...willed it unconsciously to return — to return to a place of great significance to him, no longer abiding by time’s ever forward-moving direction. That, upon finding his consciousness no longer confined to his earthly form, he had had all of time at his fingertips. So perhaps the question wasn’t  _ where  _ was he, but  _ when. _

As if by providence itself, his eyes caught sight of a waterlogged newspaper washing onto the shore. In a matter of seconds, the dead man had held his breath (a wholly unnecessary action, due to the lack thereof), sprinted across the sand (or slid, rather), and reached for the paper.

And his hand slid through it as though it were mere mist.

“Crumpets, that’s right,” he muttered, flexing his tingling fingers. 

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and knelt in the shallow water, stooping his neck to examine it. The ink had run considerably, nevertheless, his eyes were able to make out four blurry numbers in the corner.

**_1874._ **

What had happened in 1874?

Ah, yes. His accident. The year he had broken his leg and his life had changed. He had been running along a beach, chasing after the seagulls, when he had fallen. With a yelp, his body was flung down an unexpected cliffe onto the jagged rocks below, and with a sickening crack, he had been consumed by blinding, white pain.

An icy chill ran over his body. 

He had traveled through time.

It was real.

He knew it!

Suddenly unable to contain his excitement, he leapt into the air with an uncharacteristic shout. “I’ve done it!”

However, this momentary burst of joy was followed quickly by a deep blush and several glances around the beach to ensure that he was still alone. As expected, the beach remained as eerily empty as before.

Allowing himself another moment of silent celebration, he then turned in the direction he recalled there being a town and proceeded to walk with an embarrassing skip in his step. 

Luckily, no passers by seemed to take notice of his jubilance. In fact, they seemed to take no notice of him at all. 

This wasn’t unusual, as he was a rather quiet, unassuming man. However, as he walked, he began to grow disturbed at the lack of  _ any _ acknowledgement. No sideways glances, no accidental brushes, nothing.

Finally, after narrowly missing a woman who had seemingly tried to walk  _ into _ him, he finally resigned himself to test the worrying theory that was forming in his mind.

Seeing a group of men approaching, he stopped in their path and said hello.

And they walked directly through him.

“Well, I suppose that eliminates any hope of getting a room at the inn for the night.” He murmured to himself, a chill overtaking his body.

And, feeling utterly alone and defeated, he made his way back to the deserted beach.

* * *

 

“HG? HG!” Her voice echoed above the crashing waves that night, pulling him from his slumber.

Scrambling to his feet, he began to spin.

Where was it coming from?

It seemed to emanate from every direction.

“HG!”

As the voice echoed, a fog crept in, blurring the world around him.

“Lenore, is that you?” He shouted, feeling the burn of smoke in his lungs.

“HG, please answer us!” Cried Lenore once more, sounding rather desperate.

Then, another voice joined her. “Spirit from another realm, please respond to my call. If you are here, give us a sign.”

So, they were having a seance...

“I’m here!” HG shouted again, voice raw in his throat.

A beat passed.

Then, the echoing voices spoke once more, this time quieter.

“I’m sorry, Lenore. He just isn’t responding to our calls.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Whateves.”

“Perhaps, another time…”

“I said it’s fine!”

“Lenore!” HG tried again, eyes searching the empty, black sky. 

“Thank you, spirits, for hearing us. We apologize for any disturbance…”

Slowly, the fog dissipated from the air as the doorway between the realms was sealed.

And HG felt himself free to move once more.

Phantom heartbeat loud in his chest, he ran towards the ocean, his eyes continuing to search the inky abyss. 

“Lenore, I am here.” He sighed once more.

But he knew it was no use.

The air felt different now.

Colder, perhaps.

And he was painfully aware of the lack of Lenore’s presence.

* * *

 

**_The next day_ **

Surely, he romanticized her.

This is what he told himself, as he sat upon the sand the next day and counted the grains. 

She was certainly not as beautiful as he was remembering her; Who could be? 

And there was very little chance of her being as clever, asking earnest questions with a witty glint in her eyes.

Indeed, she could not be both elegant and amusing, he was certain his mind had invented these virtues, like a character in one of his books.

Most of all, he decided he must have imagined their connection.

One day.

They had known each other one, single day.

He was not in love with her.

Perhaps he only thought as much seeing as he had had very little experience with the opposite sex.

Lenore had been kind to him, so he had felt affection for her.

But affection was not love.

A person could not, should not, fall in love in a day.

That did not stop him, however, from thinking about her constantly. As he numbered each grain of sand on the beach, he thought of another thing he liked about her. And he was convinced he would eventually run out of sand.. 

She was beautiful and clever. She was sad, but witty. When she looked at him, he felt secure in something.

And he missed her.

Lord, how he missed her.

He wanted, more than anything, to find a way to return to her. But Lenore herself had not been able to return without the help of the psychic. And she had also said nothing about finding herself bound to another time and place. That could definitely complicate things… 

Still, he waited. He waited, and waited, and waited for the aforementioned “another time” when Lenore and the psychic would reach out. 

And this time, he was determined to respond to their beckon.

* * *

 

**_Several days later_ **

“Spirit from another realm, listen to our call.” A deep, feminine voice echoed above the ocean once more.

The psychic's voice.

It was time again.

“I am here!” HG shouted, scrambling to his feet. He had not slept that night on purpose. It was impossible to describe, but he just knew they were going to reach out. It was as if his tether to his current place and time were being weakened.

“HG, it’s Lenore. The hot ghost from the murder party, if you don’t remember.” Lenore’s voice came next, sounding slightly nervous.

“Of course I remember.” He replied again, searching the sky and seeing nothing.

“HG, I don’t know where you are or why you aren’t talking to us, but we can bring you back...if you want. We already brought back Annabel, so that’s amaze.”

HG’s heart sunk. He had not known that Annabel, kind, lovely Annabel, had also died. But the fact that she had been brought back gave him some hope.

Concentrating on the weakening tether to his plain of existence, he shouted, “I am here!”

Lenore carried on, unaffected. “I mean, I get that you’re probably chilling in a sweet-ass empty space and you feel relaxed for the first time in your stressed out, nerdy little life, but...I-I miss you.”

HG froze, a familiar warmth flickering to life in his chest.

She missed him.

She had known him but a day, yet, she missed him.

“I know. Lame.” Lenore laughed a moment later.

“No, no not at all!” He said, determination to see her growing stronger with each ghostly beat of his heart. Eyes scanning the beach, they fell upon the black ocean water and an idea struck him.

“I mean, I get it, we literally just met, but...I don’t know, you’re really sweet and nice and I...yeah, I miss you.” Lenore continued to speak as he waded into the water. “So, I’m kinda bearing my soul here, buddy. You gonna talk, or…” 

Then, her voice was drowned out by the gurgling sound of water as HG dove into the choppy waves. 

He pictured Poe’s dusty attic, allowing it to fill his mind when his eyes were blotted out by the darkness. 

He whispered Lenore’s name, his lips moving quickly, giving no care to the water which filled his mouth (He was already dead, it’s not as if he could drown.)

He thought of the date, the time, the new books that had been released that year, the new inventions, the fashion.

But most of all, he remembered the feeling of Lenore’s arms around him.

Her voice in his ears.

Her fingers in his hair.

The warmth in his chest.

Soon, the sensation surrounded him, consuming all his thoughts.

And then, he was falling.

Falling, and falling, and falling into a black nothingness.

* * *

 

When he came to, he was not in the intended attic. 

Rather, he was laying in a pile of snow, just out of reach of the glow from a house’s windows.

A gothic, familiar house.

Poe’s house.

His chest swelled with nervous triumph.

Rising groggily to his feet, he took in the frozen garden. It certainly looked different from the last time he’d seen it, and not just due to the snow. The dead trees had been cleared away, and a charming little tea table was positioned upon the stone patio. There were also several statues of delicate fairies and elfs, and a fountain, lacking water, but nonetheless quaint. These flourishes stood out comically against the foreboding home; too dainty to be of Edgar’s choosing, and too sentimental to be Lenore’s.

Annabel’s doing, HG was certain.

And if she was back, then this ment his efforts were successful. 

He had made it to a time after his death!

But why had he wound up here?

His thoughts were put on hold when the light of the window was suddenly shadowed by a figure.

Heart leaping, he instinctively flung himself behind the nearest bush. However, after a moment of hiding, he allowed himself to peak above the brambles and gaze through the window.

There, Lenore stood behind the glass, her eyes following the snowflakes which drifted from the sky.

HG let out a wavering breath.

She was lovely.

Utterly, mesmerizingly lovely. 

And it took everything in HG to remain where he hid, rather than indulge his arms, which ached to hold her close.

Then, another figure appeared beside her.   
A man.

Was it Edgar?

No, this stranger was shorter than the gaunt author.

Yet, there was something familiar about him…

Lenore’s lips moved, evidently greeting the young man. 

Then, the stranger wound his arms around her waist.

HG’s heart fell.

Lenore grinned and swiveled to face him, her hands lifting the goggles from his eyes.

Goggles.

A strange accessory...

Squinting, HG began to make out the figure better. He was slim, but not lanky, and wore a rumpled vest. His hair was messy and his eyes were tired.

And in a moment, an unsettling realization poured over him.

The man was...him.

But that wasn’t possible! 

Eyes widening, HG watched himself smile and lift a hand to Lenore’s cheek.

Leaning into his touch, the young woman whisper something which caused him to blush.

He watched their faces grow closer, and their eyes fall to each others lips.

Then, the inventor pulled the ghost against him and kissed her with more confidence than HG had ever known himself to possess.

It was all too much.

The world seemed to spin as his mind attempted to make sense of what he was seeing.

In a dizzying haze, he swayed, and fell back into the snow.

And his gaze grew fuzzy and dark.

* * *

 

When he opened his eyes, HG found himself once more on his back in the sand. 

Head pounding, he did not bother sitting up. Rather, with a shaking hand, he covered his eyes and allowed the questions which had been piling up in his mind to run their course. 

Had he really just watched himself embrace the woman he loved?

Had she really returned the kiss with such earnest?

Or had it been a dream? 

(Could the dead dream?)

If the scene he had witnessed was, indeed, real, then did this mean he would be able to return to Lenore?

Had he seen his future?

And if so, why did he end up in that specific time and place?

He had been trying to travel to the attic.

He had been willing himself to return to…

To Lenore’s embrace.

Sitting up with a jolt, the inventor felt something snap into place.

The walls which confined him to time’s conventional procession had been destroyed.

His future and his past were intertwined.

When he had willed himself to return to Lenore, he had gone to a time of great significance (like the beach), but this memory was one he had yet to experience. 

Rising to his feet, HG dusted off his vest and straightened his goggles.

He had successfully traversed the doors betwixt the fourth and fifth dimension. His precision could use some improvement, but that would come in time, with practice.

And practice he would.

For now, anticipation fueled his determination.

He had seen his future.

And his future had a name:

Lenore.

* * *

 

**_Epilogue_ **

For several weeks he made small trips, diving beneath the ocean waves only to appear at his childhood home during Christmas, or his favorite library in the springtime. And soon, he found himself able to make journeys without entering the water at all. Closing his eyes was enough of a hindrance for any distraction. 

His aim improved as well, going from months, to weeks, to days within his intended timeframe. 

And finally, after three very precise trips in a row, he knew he was ready.

He had picked out the time: a mere three weeks following his death.

He had picked out the place: Edgar’s library.

So, with a final nod to the beach he vowed never to return to, he closed his eyes and traveled.

…

Muttering confusedly, HG squinted at the smoke which dissipated around him. He was always a bit groggy following a timejump. 

“I was…” he breathed, struggling to recall the moments before the travel, “and now I’m…”

He looked around: books, shelves, vaulted ceiling...

Then, at long last, his eyes settled upon her.

And everything snapped into place. 

_ “HG?” _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. If so, reviews are always super appreciated!


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